The vendor

The Charminar express was running below the average speed of a super-fast train and I grew slightly bored. I had read every article of the morning paper which now lay crumpled in my hands. The enthused kid sitting next to me on the window seat announced that a station is approaching and started in earnest to read the letters that bore out the name as the train approached to a stop. After a small influx and efflux of passengers, a vendor got in. He was conspicuous by his dressing - a ritual black that symbolises the cult of people who embark on a particular pilgrimage.

This pilgrimage starts with around 40 days of fastidious rituals aimed at purging one of all the "worldly" sins before preparing one for the climax - a journey of around a day or two (depending on where you start) culminated by a bare-footed trek on an unfriendly terrain to keep your appointment with the Almighty. These pilgrims, during the 40 days are expected not to wear foot wears, eat frugal vegetarian food, abstain from drinks, maintain chastity, and not lie. They essentially live out those 40 days being personifications of an ideal Indian devotee - and in return command great respect from the society.

The vendor pressed himself into business right away. He pulled out a big cover of CDs and DVDs and started showing sample titles to fellow passengers. He showed me a couple of titles, "Sir, all new releases, first-class prints - 10 Rs each". He jutted out his thin hand with a couple of CDs in a cheap, gaudy package. I faintly negated the offer. The kid presently finished reading the name of the station. The train moved.